


What he wrote

by LaurelSilver



Series: Victimised [20]
Category: Hollywood Undead (Band)
Genre: Blood, Cannibalism, Choking, Disassociation, Disreality, Escape Attempt, Fake Names, Fist Fights, Gen, Guns, Journal keeping, Mental Breakdown, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Strangling, Torture, Violence, chase - Freeform, mentioned drug use, scrapbooking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 02:19:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19308643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurelSilver/pseuds/LaurelSilver
Summary: "When the devil takes your hand, let me show you what he wrote."Johnny 3 Tears, Another Level.Jorel hates books and Johnny fights him over it.As suggested by TheCoral.





	What he wrote

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheCoral](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCoral/gifts).



> Hollywood Undead:  
> Johnny: Johnny 3 Tears  
> Matty/St. Clair: Da Kurlzz  
> Jorel/Jelly: J-Dog  
> Danny/Angel: Danny  
> Viral Tiger  
> Dylan/Honey: Funny Man  
> Aron: Deuce (mentioned only)
> 
> Victims (anyone you want them to be, call it catharsis):  
> Sweetie: current Victim. Gender irrelevant, referred to as 'it'.  
> Lippy: past Victim, male, smart-mouthed.  
> Blondie: past Victim, female, athletic.  
> Burner: past Victim, male, weedhead.  
> Chaos: past Victim, male.  
> Happy: past Victim.  
> Doe-eye: past Victim at same time as Johnny, female.  
> Indigo: past Victim.  
> Pussy: past Victim of only Johnny, male.
> 
> Just to be very clear;  
> 1\. I have not done, nor do I have any intention of doing, anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fiction.  
> 2\. I don't think the guys have done, or have any intention of doing, anything described in this fic.  
> 3\. I do not encourage or condone anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fic. Recreating this fic, or anything similar, is illegal and immoral and very fucked up.  
> 4\. You are not obliged to read, finish reading if you start, or comment/kudos if you finish.  
> 5\. Victim having any similarities to anyone real or fictional is unintentional.
> 
> To re-iterate:  
> This fic contains mentions of sexual assault and cannibalism.

Two of Johnny’s notebooks could fit side-by-side on top of Matty’s scrapbook with only the very border of the scrapbook showing. It was all dollar store shit, covers peeling, pages taped back in, ink both smudged across and bled into the grey paper. Johnny stacked the notebooks up methodically, biggest to smallest, sat on the rug by the sofas.

“Dude, what are you doing,” Jorel asked. Again.

Johnny shrugged. Again.

Jorel scanned the room for some sort of back-up. Danny and Matty were sat on the rug, coffee table between them, chess game laid out, Danny watching Matty close as Matty contemplated his next moves. Charlie was laid on the sofa opposite Jorel, Viral Tiger perched on top of him, Charlie dozing off. Dylan was sat on the remaining sofa, Sweetie held firm between his legs as he combed through its hair and wiped the blood he combed out onto a towel. Victim could barely keep its eyes open, tired and dizzy, clutching the stump of its right arm like it could coax the limb to grow back.

“No one else has a problem with this?” Jorel said.

Six pairs of eyes turned to him. Dylan gestured to Sweetie with his question written in his face.

“Not you. This!” Jorel pointed to the books.

“None of them are signed, calm down,” Matty said.

“Oh, thank God. I’d forgotten; fingerprints only exist if you sign it!”

“You ate these up when I first brought them in,” Johnny said. His most recent notebook lay open in his lap.

“Yeah, because I thought we were gonna burn the fucking things.”

“Why would I write up a journal just to burn it?”

“Why would you write this shit up anyway?! What, are you taking little trips down memory lane or some shit?”

“Yeah,” Danny, Dylan and Matty chorused.

“Wasn’t asking you fuck-ups.”

Dylan winked at him. Jorel ignored him, glaring back at Johnny. Johnny just shrugged at him. Again.

Jorel ducked down,  snatched the notebook from Johnny’s lap, and darted off over the coffee table, kicking through the chess game and jumping onto the sofa by Dylan. “Let’s have a little look-see, huh? “June 18th, 12-20pm. St. Claire-” fucking _St. Claire_ over here.”

“Shut up, man,” Matty dove after Jorel, and Johnny almost tripped over him.

Jorel hopped over the back of the sofa, dodging them both and skirting the sofas around to Charlie. “St. Claire and Bean – where the fuck did you get these names from?”

Johnny doubled back, trying to cut Jorel off. Danny gathered up the chess pieces as Johnny trampled them, narrowly missing getting his fingers crushed, and gathered the pieces in a pile on the coffee table. Jorel climbed over the sofa and landed on top of Charlie. Charlie clutched Viral Tiger to his chest and hollered in alarm.

“St. Claire and Bean unchained Sweetie,” Jorel continued to read, still dodging out of Johnny and Matty’s reach, “St. Claire and Angel – fucking _Angel_ – held Sweetie down on the floor while Bean removed the right arm above the wrist with a hacksaw. Sweetie is a screamer. Honey – fucking _Honey_ – burnt Sweetie’s arm closed with St. Claire’s assigned skillet. Bean proceeded to force intercourse – _force intercourse –_ as St. Claire cut down the meat and passed the bones on to Jelly – fucking _Jelly_ , of all the names, fucking _Jelly_ – for disposal.”

“Like I said, not even real names,” Matty said.

“That’s not the point here!”

“Just give it back, man,” Johnny said, “You’re so worried about fingerprints; quit touching the books up!”

Jorel looked Johnny in the eyes and tore the page clean out of the notebook.

No one breathed as Jorel continued to tear, scrunching the pages in his hand and dropping them on the floor, crumpled grey blossoms, cheap ink staining his fingers.

Johnny dove over the coffee table and tackled Jorel into the sofa. He grabbed the notebook and pulled.

The plastic snapped, the paper tore, and the notebook ripped straight across the middle. Johnny fell off the sofa, top half of the notebook ripping again in his tense hands. Jorel flung the bottom half at him.

“Hey,” Charlie said, stepping up onto the coffee table, “Both of you need to stop.”

“We _need_ to burn those fucking books,” Jorel said.

Johnny threw himself up at Jorel, sending the sofa onto its back. Johnny and Jorel rolled, Johnny’s hands curled around Jorel’s neck, Jorel clinging to Johnny’s wrists. They rolled again, Jorel getting on top and pulling out of Johnny’s grip with a gasp for air.

Johnny rose after him, swinging a punch for Jorel’s face. Jorel reeled and fell back. Johnny followed, fist curled to punch again.

Charlie seized Johnny’s arm and pulled. He couldn’t pull Johnny off of Jorel completely, but Jorel managed to drag himself out from under Johnny’s straddle as Charlie pulled on the curled fist. Blood ran from Jorel’s split lip.

“Crazy fucking bastard,” Jorel spat.

Johnny lurched for him again. Charlie stumbled and fell straight on top of Johnny. He wrapped his arms tight around Johnny, clinging to him in a koala-hug, trapping Johnny’s arm into his side. Danny threw himself into Johnny’s other side, holding Johnny back as Dylan dragged Jorel away.

Matty put the pieces of the notebook back together. The paper had torn clean, cheap fibres ready to separate at any given moment. It would be fairly easy to tape the halved pages back together, just a ball-ache of a task, beside the fact that the unwritten pages would be left unusable with strips of plastic through their middle. Matty doubted the paper would even be able to hold that much tape.

“You done yet?” Dylan said.

Johnny glared at Jorel, but nodded. Jorel nodded back, and Charlie and Danny let go of Johnny.

“You got a little…” Danny gestured to his lip.

Jorel touched his lip and hissed at the sting. “Good to know you still pack a punch, man.”

Johnny looked his hand over, a fat drop of blood clinging to his knuckle. “Yeah, I guess.”

Charlie clapped Johnny on the shoulder and stood up. “Fucking _shit_!” he yelled, and dove over the sofa.

Sweetie pulled the deadbolt and burst out into the sunlight. Dylan and Matty ran to follow it, and crashed straight into each other.

Johnny was up on his feet and ran straight for the door, hurdling over the sofas and the coffee table like they were just inches tall. Charlie tore a rifle from the underside of the coffee table and followed, Jorel and Danny following suit, Matty and Dylan following weaponless.

The warehouses were abandoned, as usual. Sweetie was nowhere to be seen, but Johnny was giving chase down a dirt path leading between a dozen more warehouses and out into the forest.

Jorel nodded quick orders. Charlie and Jorel cocked their guns and followed Johnny along the warehouses. Dylan jogged around the front of the warehouse, checking down every path. Danny ran the opposite way, headed around the full perimeter. Matty remained in the doorway like an estranged housewife and watched Charlie and Jorel disappear up the path.

Sweetie stumbled as it ran, no rubble to hide behind. It collapsed into a pair of doors and pulled. The chain through the door handles clunked its disapproval, and Sweetie took off again.

Johnny followed, closing the gap with every step. He rounded the corner and snarled as Sweetie peeled away from the doors. Sweetie screamed as he drew closer, and ran around another corner to empty path, locked doors, and forest beyond.

Sweetie bolted for the forest. Johnny pressed after it.

Grass greeted Sweetie’s bare feet, dry and scratchy. A branch exploded with a gunshot, and Jorel yelled at Charlie. Sweetie ducked as splinters rained down.

Johnny tackled Sweetie into the side of the tree, thick arms closing around its chest. Sweetie struggled and ducked, managing to slip through by just a few inches. Johnny squeezed, and his forearm tucked under Sweetie’s chin.

Charlie caught the pair up and circled them, looking them up and down. He gave Jorel a nod, who flicked the safety back onto his rifle.

Johnny stepped back towards the warehouse, dragging Sweetie with him. Sweetie struggled, pulling on him as it stumbled against him.  His shoes kicked at its bare feet as he walked, and it would lose its footing and get dragged along and trampled as Johnny kept going. He barely seemed to notice Sweetie struggling against his front, its hand wrapped around his and puling as hard as it could manage.

Jorel put two fingers in his mouth and whistled as they reached the warehouse. Dylan came running from the other side of the warehouse, Danny running in a few seconds later. Matty was still in the doorway, playing with the deadbolt.

“I heard a shot,” Danny said, “Was anyone hit?”

“No, it was just a warning shot,” Charlie said.

“Warning shot!” Jorel said, “You nearly hit Johnny!”

“Johnny.” Matty stepped away from the door, hands raised like Johnny was about to leap at him too. “Let go of Sweetie.”

Johnny squeezed tighter and snarled at Matty. Sweetie reached for Matty, gasping.

“Shit, not so tight!” Danny grabbed Johnny’s hand and pulled his arm looser

Sweetie gasped. Its hand caught in Matty’s, and it fell out of Johnny’s grasp and collapsed into Matty.

“Shit, dude,” Charlie whispered.

Matty eased Sweetie to the ground, Danny following. Danny helped Sweetie roll onto its back, its head rested in Matty’s lap. Sweetie gasped and sobbed the air back out, clinging to Matty’s hand, his violence forgotten in Sweetie’s desperation.

“We kinda want it alive,” Dylan said to Johnny, gesturing down at the scene.

Johnny just shrugged. Again.

“Whatever we want, we need to take it inside,” Jorel said.

“Sweetie needs a minute,” Matty said, “We’ll be fine for one fucking minute.”

“You wanna get caught?”

“Stand guard then, you paranoid motherfucker. You’ve been smoking too much.”

“I’m so sorry for not wanting us all to get life sentences!”

“Nah, we’re getting the shot,” Dylan said.

“Especially once they read those fucking books.”

“Let’s get you inside, Sweetie,” Danny cooed, “I think we’ve had enough excitement for today.”

Sweetie moaned as Danny took its hand and pulled it upright. Matty pushed it up and let it lean heavy on Danny’s side.

Jorel ushered them inside and slammed the door behind them. The deadbolt rang like a dull bell.

Sweetie flinched in Danny’s arms. It began to struggle again, and Jorel cocked his rifle. Sweetie shrank back into Danny, who cooed in its ears and continued to lead it to the back wall.

Sweetie whimpered at Danny as he picked up the chain. It swatted at the chain, and Danny tutted.

“D’you want me to call Johnny over here?” he said.

Sweetie shook its head. It whimpered again as Danny wrapped the chain around its neck. Red bloomed over its throat, angry and raw. Danny slid the lock until it clicked and gave it a test tug. Sweetie followed the tug and Danny pulled it close.

“That was very naughty of you, wasn’t it?” Danny said. He smiled kindly.

Sweetie nodded.

“I think they’re real mad at you now.”

Sweetie sobbed.

“I’m super excited to see what they do to you.” Danny kissed Sweetie’s forehead, rose and sauntered away, rifle still hung from his hand.

Charlie scooped Viral Tiger up, Dylan’s towel sticking to his belly. Charlie peeled the towel away and blood clung to Viral Tiger’s fur.

“Fucking – shit!” Charlie threw the towel and darted for the open bathroom.

“What’s the matter with you?” Jorel said.

“I got blood in his fur!” Charlie said, throwing Viral Tiger in the sink.

“Bringing a white tiger toy to a slaughterhouse was a stupid idea to begin with,” Matty said.

“It was fine until some asshole started a fight and let ‘Sweetie’ escape!”

“Hey, fuck you!” Johnny said

“I meant Jorel, dumb-ass!”

“ _What_?” Jorel said

“You heard me! There was no fucking need to go tearing his books up!”

“He shouldn’t have them! Or the scrapbooks! Or anything like it!”

“We don’t tell you how to deal with your shit!” Matty said, “Leave him alone.”

“How can _none_ of you have a problem with this?”

“We’re all fucked, man,” Danny said, “This whole place is covered in fingerprints, DNA, fuck knows what else. As soon as this place is found, we’re all found. What’s a few journals gonna do?”

“These,” Jorel grabbed a notebook and waved it in Daniel’s face, “Are the final nail in our coffins.”

“Does it really matter how many nails are in the coffin?” Johnny said, “It’s already sealed, man.”

Jorel threw the book at Johnny. A few pages fluttered out, covered in Johnny’s scrawl. A piece showed a stick man, each limb labelled with the date it was removed and what the flesh was cooked into.

Matty picked the piece up. “Lippy? Fuck, he must have lasted a journal.”

“About three quarters,” Johnny said.

“Who the fuck?” Dylan said.

“Lippy,” Matty ducked down and wiggled the scrapbook out, Johnny’s notebook towers wobbling dangerously, “I’ll show you.”

“Oh my fucking God, don’t,” Jorel said, “You don’t need to. You literally do not need to.”

“Just drop it, Jelly.”

“Don’t fucking call me that!”

“Don’t get hostile, Jelly.”

Jorel threw another book at Matty, hitting him in the head. The book fell open to lines drawn straight down, the pen having dug through several pages, the ink bled into the paper.

Matty tutted at him and flipped through the scrapbook. “This guy.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dylan said, “Wouldn’t shut the fuck up.”

“Yeah, him. Still tried to talk after Jelly took his tongue out.”

“Because we need to remember each individual guy we kill?” Jorel said, next notebook in hand.

“It’s nice to respect them, yeah.”

“Okay, so we can torture, rape, kill, cannibalise; so long as we do it all with _respect_.”

Johnny stood up, Lippy’s notebook still in his hands. He walked away from the group, turning the notebook over in his hands like he was expecting to tear itself in half.

Jorel kicked the notebook towers down. Matty and Dylan yelled at him as he scattered them about, covers splitting and paper tearing under his soles.

Johnny slide down the wall to sit next to Sweetie. Sweetie shuffled away from him, chain clinking. Johnny wrapped an arm around its shoulders and dragged it to lean into his side. Sweetie squeaked, and Johnny pulled it in more comfortably.

Johnny flipped through the notebook, the pages filled corner to corner, edge to edge, cover to cover with ink. Doodles, paragraphs, lists, lines, flipped through in his lap, Sweetie barely able to read a word as the pages folded.

“I liked Lippy,” Johnny said, “Y’wanna know why we called him Lippy? I was under strict order to punch him in the face every time he spat at someone. He just wouldn’t stop. We drilled holes in his cheeks, he wouldn’t stop. We hammered nails into his jaw, he wouldn’t stop. We made him drink soap, acid, boiling water; he wouldn’t stop. He just wouldn’t stop. He’d sit with his head hanging like this,” Johnny dipped his chin to his chest, “Then when you went up to him he’d throw his head back and just – _ch!_ ”  Johnny spat up, and his spittle soared and landed in his notebook, “And he just wouldn’t stop. He was still trying to spit at us when he died. We stopped giving him water and he just dried up. I liked him honestly. He was ballsy. I like that. I can respect that.”

Sweetie whimpered. Jorel and Matty were still squabbling, Jorel picking up the notebooks to throw at Matty, Matty batting them away with his scrapbook. Danny was trying to get Jorel to sit down. Dylan was flipping through a random notebook, torn and taped pages disintegrating in his fingertips, frown set deep in his face as he mouthed words at the book. Charlie was checking Viral Tiger over, Viral Tiger’s belly grey with water.

“I’ve been here, you know,” Johnny said. He was leant heavy over Sweetie, and almost whispering in its ear. “Matty, St. Claire, with the book over there? He kept me here for four months, five years ago I think. Coaxed me in with coke and had his wicked little way with me. He’s cut all of us, you know. The others let him.”

Matty smacked Jorel with his scrapbook, and Dylan and Charlie split into peals of laughter.

Johnny huffed a chuckle. Sweetie wriggled in Johnny’s side. Johnny let it pull away slightly, looking down at it like he was listening to it.

Sweetie turned its face up to Johnny and spat. Its spit caught onto Johnny’s cheek, and he blinked.

“Fucking _really_?” Johnny hissed. He wiped the spit away with his thumb.

Sweetie tried to spit again. Johnny pulled on its chain and it choked. He pulled up on the chain until Sweetie was hanging from it, tugging on it and choking, its feet scrabbling on the concrete.

Dylan’s hands closed on Johnny’s and prised his fingers open. Sweetie dropped to the floor, spluttering. It patted at Dylan, and he gave its hand a squeeze. He pulled on Johnny’s hand, dragged him to his feet and away from the wall. Johnny hung his head like a scolded schoolboy.

Paper and covers littered the rug. Drawings and scribbles stared up at Johnny as Dylan pushed him to sit down on the sofa.

“Blondie’s actually quite a pretty girl,” the passage by his foot read, “She’s flexible and she’s a fighter and Bean likes that. Angel keeps playing games with her to see which can bend the furthest or who can hold themselves a particular way the longest. Blondie usually wins.”

“Burner will crawl up on us if we’ve got weed,” another passage read, “Jelly and Honey have managed to convince St. Claire to let him keep a hand so he can still smoke with us.”

“Chaos keeps climbing up the fucking wall. I don’t think he’s gonna last.”

“Happy hugged me.”

“Chaos kicked Angel in the stomach, so he’s dead now.”

Matty was talking above Johnny. Maybe talking to Johnny. Johnny was trying to remember what Chaos looked like, but he could only remember Lippy’s swollen smirk. Had they even looked like each other?

Johnny looked up at Matty, who was still lecturing him. Maybe. Maybe he’d stopped. It could get hard to tell, you’d switch off and tune him out and his voice would just escape you. Johnny blinked and nodded.

Someone else was talking. Someone touched him, one hand on his arm, the other tapping his face. Johnny put a hand over the hand gripping his arm. Blondie’s pretty face bubbled in his vision, blood gargling in her throat as Johnny’s weight cracked her ribs and forced the bones into her lungs. No, that had been Burner. No, Doe-eye. No, Indigo. No. No.

The hand slapped at him, gripped in and forced him to face Jorel. Jorel’s lip was swollen, but his teeth remained and his face was too flat, he was definitely Jorel. He was speaking, his lips making distinct shapes, his grill flashing silver on his canines. His voice swam like Johnny was drowning.

Johnny took a deep breath. “I killed Doe-eye.”

The room popped. No one breathed. Nothing buzzed. Nothing made a sound.

“I killed Doe-eye” Johnny said. Again. He dared a look up at Matty.

Matty stared down at him, torn between a deep frown and slack-jawed shock. Johnny poked at him. Matty caught his hand, still blinking at him. Charlie buried his face in Viral Tiger’s back and peered over at them.

“I killed Doe-eye,” Johnny said again.

“Yeah, I’d figured,” Matty said.

“Is that it?”

“What do you want? You’ve killed a lot of people, Johnny.”

“Yeah. Fuck, yeah.”

Johnny pulled his hands away from Jorel and Matty and folded them in his lap.

“I think you oughta lie down, man,” Dylan said, “You’re all kinds of mess right now.”

Johnny stared at his hands, opening them in a circle and curling them. Chaos’ neck had fitted neatly in his hands. No, Burner’s. No, Aron’s. No. No.

“Come on,” Matty’s hands were on Johnny’s shoulders, “Come lie down.”

Johnny blinked and let Matty pull him to his feet. Blood clung to his hands but it was too little and he wasn’t sure whose it was and wasn’t he chained to a wall? Why was Jorel here? Why was Jorel okay with this? Was Jorel providing the coke all along?

Danny pulled the covers back and Matty sat Johnny down on the mattress. He pushed Johnny to lie down and Danny covered him over with a coo of some angelic bullshit. Pussy curled into Johnny’s side, teeth clenched with questions, then he vanished as Charlie put Viral Tiger down on Johnny’s chest. Johnny caught him, hand wrapped over his paws, damp of his belly soaking across Johnny’s shirt.

“You’ll be okay, man, just sleep it off,” Viral Tiger said, tongue dripping blood and spittle onto Johnny’s chest, “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Faces floated, filling his vision, looking down on him. Words floated, escaping him, floating away like butterflies on the breeze, just out of his reach. Something rumbled or purred or buzzed, it was hard to tell but it was making noise and it was all Johnny could focus on.  Just breathe, focus on that.

“Hey?” Johnny said, “Jorel?”

“Yeah?” Jorel said. His face twisted, fanged and snarling at him.

“Burn the books,” Johnny said, “Leave Matty’s, burn mine. Just shut the fuck up about them.”

“Whatever, man. They’re wrecked anyway.”

“Burn them. Do what you gotta do.”

Lippy nodded his understanding and patted Johnny’s hand.

Under the fridge, an envelope gathered dust. Three pages, both sides filled, had been folded and smoothed as flat as they would go. A side to each of them, detailing their first kill as they’d told it to Johnny. He’d asked so nicely, after all.  Dylan had almost caught him pushing the envelope into the back corner. He said he’d fallen, and Dylan had no reason to question him.

Doe-eye stared at him from her chain as Johnny closed his eyes and let Viral Tiger purr him to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I appear to have a thing for Johnny strangling people.
> 
> Throughout the course of this fic, Johnny took the hand of every other character, including Sweetie. Sweetie's hand is also taken by every other character: Matty, Danny and Dylan all held it's remaining hand at some point; Charlie cut its right hand off and Jorel took the bones; and Sweetie pulled on Johnny's hand as he was dragging it to the warehouse.   
> The fake names were first mentioned in the end notes of _Om-nom-nom-nom_ as nicknames Matty would have given the other members had he kept them. Johnny's nickname would have been Beefy, which I admit is a shit nickname.  
> The length of Johnny's entries has dwindled over time, probably because it would be a lot of work to keep up. It's also a very loose reference to the _Murder She Wrote_ series, whose author Agatha Christie developed dementia, and as the series progressed the variety of vocabulary dropped. The last line of one of the last stories she wrote, _Elephants can remember_ , read "Maybe it’s OK not to remember."  
> 'Jelly' was a placeholder name Matty gave Jorel, but Jorel hated it so much Matty decided to keep it just piss him off.  
> The notebook Dylan flips through details 'Honey', who Johnny would have met a handful of times, and appears in _Om-nom-nom-nom-nom_. Dylan's probably a bit weirded out to share a petname with an actual Victim.  
> 'Did Jorel provide the coke?' refers to the fact that none of the guys knew Matty was torturing Johnny. Johnny is disassociating hard enough to be completely mixing present reality and memories.  
> Charlie spoke Viral Tiger's lines, not Viral Tiger. Johnny is hallucinating. He also hallucinates Lippy in place of Jorel, and Doe-eye in place of Sweetie.  
> 'Just breathe' refers to _(Unless you) Breathe_ where Johnny gives the same advice to a Victim based on his experience with Matty.  
> Viral Tiger's purring is actually coming from the fridge.
> 
> I know breakdowns/disassociating doesn't tend to come on that hard, that fast, but I was going for something a bit extreme.
> 
> With that, remember to stretch on a regular basis! Have a quick stretch now, legs, up your spine, down your arms.


End file.
